Chapter 3: The Legal Alarm
1128 Words
By the time Jorge left Monterrey General Hospital, the sun was dipping low, casting long amber streaks over the city’s glass façades. The air was still hot, the kind of dry heat that clung to your skin, but Jorge hardly noticed. His mind was turning over possibilities, each more troubling than the last.
The Ministry of Urban Development was a bureaucratic fortress—any letter it sent carried weight. But the way this one was worded… the deliberate phrasing, the urgency, the veiled accusation—it reeked of something more than a simple audit.
And Jorge had a name in the back of his mind, one that made his gut twist.
---
He reached his law office on Avenida Juárez well past business hours. The front lobby was dark except for the faint green glow of the security panel. As he stepped inside, the cool blast of air conditioning hit him, along with the faint scent of leather-bound law books.
The office was silent, save for the hum of his desktop computer. He flicked on the desk lamp, dropped the Ministry letter onto the blotter, and leaned back in his chair.
First step—verify the legality of the claim.
He pulled up Emilio’s property files, the scanned deeds, the contract of sale, the zoning approval documents. Everything checked out. Every permit had been properly obtained. The purchase had been clean, notarized, and publicly recorded.
He muttered to himself. “They can’t just—” He stopped mid-sentence as his phone buzzed.
The caller ID read: Unknown Number.
Jorge answered. “This is Jorge Moreno.”
A man’s voice, deep and edged with smugness, came through the line. “Señor Moreno… I hear you’re poking around in Ministry business. Dangerous hobby.”
Jorge’s jaw tightened. “Who is this?”
“Someone who knows that your friend Emilio is about to lose everything. And if you’re smart, you’ll tell him to let it happen quietly.”
Jorge’s free hand clenched into a fist. “If you have something to say, say it in person. I don’t take orders over the phone.”
The man chuckled. “Courage. I like that. But courage is expensive. And trust me—you can’t afford the price.”
The line went dead.
---
Jorge set the phone down slowly. It was no longer a theory—someone with influence was orchestrating this. And judging by the confidence in that voice, they believed they were untouchable.
He thought again of Emilio lying in that hospital bed. If they pushed this hard enough, it wouldn’t just be his property at stake—it could destroy his health entirely.
---
The next morning, Jorge was at the Ministry building before it even opened. The structure was all glass and steel, a symbol of power and money. Security guards stood at the revolving doors, their reflective sunglasses giving away nothing.
Inside, the reception area gleamed—polished marble floors, a central desk, and a row of leather chairs occupied by early visitors. Jorge approached the receptionist, a young woman with her hair pulled into a sleek bun.
“I’m here to see Director Mendez Fuentes,” he said, keeping his voice polite but firm.
She tapped on her keyboard. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” Jorge said. “But tell him it’s about the Rodriguez land acquisition. He’ll want to hear it.”
Her eyes flickered—just for a moment—at the name. “One moment, please.”
She picked up the phone, murmured into it, then hung up. “The Director will see you in fifteen minutes. Please have a seat.”
---
Fifteen minutes stretched to twenty-five before a tall man in an impeccably tailored suit appeared in the doorway. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed back, and his sharp features were framed by an expression of faint amusement.
“Señor Moreno,” he said smoothly. “I hear you have concerns.”
Jorge rose. “Concerns are put mildly. You’ve issued a revocation of property rights against my client with no legal grounds. I’m here to have that reversed before it goes to court.”
Mendez’s smile didn’t falter. “Your client’s case file indicates… irregularities. The Ministry takes such matters seriously.”
“There are no irregularities,” Jorge countered. “Everything is documented. The real question is—why the sudden interest in Emilio Rodriguez’s land?”
Mendez stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Sometimes, Señor Moreno, people stand in the way of… progress. And sometimes, the easiest way to remove an obstacle is to make it… inconvenient for them to remain.”
Jorge stared at him. “You mean to drive him out.”
“I mean to see that the city’s vision is realized without unnecessary interference.”
“And if that means destroying a man’s career and reputation?”
Mendez’s eyes hardened. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Now, if you’ll excuse me—this meeting is over.”
---
Outside the Ministry, Jorge’s pulse was still pounding. He’d gotten nothing useful—except confirmation that this was deliberate, targeted, and personal.
But why Emilio? And why now?
---
Later that afternoon, Jorge returned to the hospital. Emilio was sitting up, the color slowly returning to his face, though he still looked worn. Cynthia was by the window, scrolling on her phone.
“Well?” Emilio asked the moment Jorge entered.
Jorge hesitated before answering. “It’s bad. Director Mendez is behind it. He didn’t say it outright, but it’s clear he wants your land. And he’s willing to twist the law to get it.”
Emilio’s eyes narrowed. “Mendez… I know that name.”
Cynthia stiffened slightly but didn’t look up.
“From where?” Jorge asked.
Emilio thought for a moment. “We met years ago, at a gala for the Ministry. He… didn’t like me much. Said I was arrogant for turning down one of his contracts.”
Jorge raised an eyebrow. “So it’s personal.”
Emilio nodded slowly. “Very personal.”
---
Jorge pulled a chair closer to the bed. “Then we’ll fight. But Emilio, you need to be ready. Mendez plays dirty. He’ll try to smear your name in the press, push your investors away, even drag your family into it.”
For the first time, Emilio’s gaze flicked toward Cynthia. “I can handle myself. But if he touches her—”
Cynthia looked up sharply. “I’m fine,” she said quickly. “He wouldn’t dare.”
But Jorge noticed the slight tremor in her hands as she set her phone down.
And in that moment, he was certain—Cynthia knew more about Mendez than she was willing to admit.
- Writer
